Do You Remember The First Time? #4 Grandaddy - Jed's Other Poem

In my review of Mercury Rev's performance of Deserters Songs at the Roundhouse a few months ago, I was initially sceptical of the album's place in the pantheon of modern Americana classics, alongside the likes of the Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin, Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and Grandaddy's Under The Western Freeway. But in truth, when anyone compiles such a list, it's inevitably Grandaddy that gets missed out. That was the story of their career in a nutshell; perenially underloved and under the radar, their eventual dissolution in 2006 nonetheless caused considerable mourning amongst their followers, and an outcry for this band to be acknowldeged by a wider audience.

Their call has, in part, been answered by this coming Monday's release of the deluxe edition of 2000's The Sophtware Slump. Every bit as good as debut Under The Western Freeway, it consolidated the band's knack for odd, yet deceptively simple and strangely affecting indie-rock songwriting, underscored by the sadsack voice of front man and chief creative talent Jason Lytle. On its release, The Sophtware Slump gained, with some justification, comparisons with Radiohead's OK Computer for its similar underlying themes of extraterrestrialism, loneliness, and man's struggles with technology. But in contrast with Thom Yorke's cut-and-paste lyrical vagaries, Lytle's words give us a strong visual image and carry real emotional resonance, no matter how strange the circumstances. Broken Household Appliance National Forest for instance, simultaneously draws anger at man's wastefulness and lack of regard for natural habitat, and yet we are able to draw a warm feeling of satisfaction from the deers, frogs and other woodland critters that contentedly make their home amongst the deserted refridgerators and air condition units. Then there's the poor soul in Miner At The Dial-A-View (what is the Dial-A-View exactly? Some kind of pay-per-view precursor of Google Earth perhaps?) looking at images of his home and longing for his return. It's a fine distillation of the feelings of loneliness and re-kindling of long-distant memories (both in terms of time and physical distance) that the band first touched upon on Under The Western Freeway's Everything Beautiful Is Far Away.

Perhaps the strongest recurring theme within The Sophtware Slump is one of obscelescence. There's the astronaut who touches back down to Earth on He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's The Pilot to find a planet which has moved on without him (possibly the same character who makes his weary getaway on the album's final song So You'll Aim Toward The Sky). And then there's the sorry story of Jed The Humanoid who, on becoming despondant after his neglect by his creators as they go on to devise more advanced creations, goes off the rails and ends up meeting an early robot grave. Perhaps the album's most stirring moment is Jed's Other Poem, a reprise of the story which unearths a hitherto undiscovered poem,written by the humanoid  himself, recording his own downfall. It delivers what is both the album's most humourous and devestating passage ("I try to sing it funny like Beck but it's bringing me down/Lower than ground/Beautiful Ground") before fading into the ether over a rippling piano. Listen to it below and then, if you haven't already, go out and get The Sophtware Slump and give this band some posthumous credit.

Zaireeka! - reappraisal of a misunderstood classic

Pitchfork Media is celebrating its 15th birthday this week. Love it or loathe it, there's no denying the site has had an almost unparalleled influence on the indie/alternative music scene over that time. It's also hard to deny that since its inception in 1996, the standard of writing has improved substantially.

For me, one of the greatest travesties that P4k ever inflicted on music journalism was its 0.0 score of Zaireeka!, the Flaming Lips' mind-boggling 4CD album from 1997. One of the worst things about that review was the fact that it failed to provide any critique of the album's music whatsoever, but instead laid into the album's concept (for the uninitiated, the four CDs which make up Zaireeka are all meant for simultaneous play, meaning you need 4 CD players, or else three other friends with CD players, to get the full listening experience).

First of all, let me say that the concept to Zaireeka! is brilliant on so many levels. You never get the same listening experience twice. To keep 4 CD players perfectly in sync over 8 songs and 45 minutes is simply an impossible task, but that ends up being half the fun, especially when you start hearing echoes of a vocal before the original vocal has even been uttered. And then you're able to play around with the whole album dynamics. Which CD should I play in this player? How loud should I have it? Where should this CD player go in the room? And whilst 4 CDs is undoubtedly the recommended  set-up, Zaireeka! can be enjoyed with 3 or even just 2 CDs, giving all manner of permutations (just make sure you have CD1 included in there somewhere).

And then there's the intended communal experience of Zaireeka!, the idea of friends coming along, bringing their CD players, having some drinks, and sitting back and soaking up the madness. I've experienced the album once in this manner, and it has really stuck in my mind in a way that I've never had from simply sticking on a CD, either before or since.

But all of this would be moot if the music itself was a load of old cobblers. It's here where Zaireeka! transcends mere gimmickry, offering a wonderful, and surprisingly focussed set of songs which actually runs the gamut between 1995's Clouds Taste Metallic (when they still sounded like a band playing actual instruments) and 1999's polyphonic masterpiece The Soft Bulletin pretty well.

As part of their 15th birthday celebrations, P4k have dug up a number of journalistic pieces from their archive, one of which is a reappraisal of Zaireeka!, originally written in 2002. It goes a long way to addressing the original misdemeanour, by pretty much outlining what I've said here. Hopefully, moments of agenda-driven, attention-seeking drivel such as that original review are a thing of the past on P4k. But should there remain a dearth of level-headed, objective writing on P4k's pages....well you've always got KILAS, haven't you?

Review: The Men - Leave Home

Joining the ranks of bands with ungoogleable names - Rate Your Music reliably informs me there are at least five artists with the same name - the bleary front cover of Leave Home is similarly inscrutible. And whilst the band's searing noise rock, with its nods to Sonic Youth in particular, hints at the band's Brooklyn roots, there is, in truth, no single overriding influence  to The Men's sound. But if there's one binding factor which ties these 8 songs together, its that whatever The Men put their hand to - be it no wave, garage, space rock or doom metal - they push it deep into the red and beat the living crap out of it.

Leave Home, the band's second full-length, has a kickarse factor that few albums this year are likely to match. Vocals are largely undecipherable, except for when the band what them to be heard, such as the cheeky lyrical lift from Spacemen 3's Take Me To The Other Side on (). For the most part, however, they're simply there to add another layer to The Men's sonic assualt. 

The album's midrift is The Men at their most unyielding. Think is snarling hardcore, punctuated  by disintegrations into jazzy noise. LADOCH's gruelling, slow metal grind and monstrous vocals recall Harvey Milk. Repeated listens soften the blow, but those two songs feels like a deliberate false turn in anticipation for the album's outstanding second half. ()'s lyrical steal is aptly put to a searing Spacemen 3-esque guitars. Shitting With The Shaw takes the other side of that sound, its patient build of  slow wah-wah guitar providing the album's sole breather, before culminating in an explosive finale. Bataille, a potent garage rocker loosely similar to Sonic Youth's Hey Joni, is the album's most immediately gratifying cut, whilst the swarmy dub-punk closer Night Landing suggests at yet another direction this band could go in.

For all that, Leave Home holds together extremely well, its blend of genres not pulling against one another, but bound tightly together by The Men's sheer conviction. Hopefully they'll feel no need to rein in their influences on future records; if they imbue all of their albums with this amount of energy, they'll have no problems forging an identity of their own.

85/100

Shopowners Of The World Unite!

As London, and many other parts of the UK, are beseiged by riots, the likes of which have not been seen in some 30 years, it's easy to reflect on the similarities between the situation all those years ago, and how it is today. In both cases, the protaganists primarily originate from poor households, often from ethnic minorities, at a time with a Tory government in power, and a surge in unemployment. There are, however, clear disparities. For all the bait which there's been to bite on, what we have witnessed in the past few days has provided little evidence of a true motive; these are rebels without a cause, who stand for nothing.

One only has to look at the current neutered state of the music industry to see just how well it reflects what's going out on the streets. Any sense of  lyrical depth or socio-political insight has been snuffed out, any greater meaning rendered worthless. If there's any motive in today's popular music, its to further the relentless march of consumerism; when music videos have become so rife with product placement, is it any wonder that looting of mobile phone shops and other electronic goods has been the order of the day? During the riots of '81, the ominous "Ghost Town" by The Specials took its icy grip of the top of the chart; today we have Cher Lloyd  the product of a programme whos very take-home message is that you can have it all, and achieve it with the bare minimum of hard graft.

The finger cannot, and should not, merely be pointed at pop music. With UK punk and its aftermath in the late 70's and early 80's, there emerged a glut of bands and artists, from privileged and poor backgrounds alike, documenting how they perceived the government to be failing its people. There's been no shortage of source material for artists to draw upon in recent years - the war in Iraq, the global recession and the resulting cuts - and yet the current UK indie crop is worryingly scant on artists who have something to say, seemingly quashed by an overwhelming sense of tolerance and indifference.

Of course, a good song, be it mainstream or otherwise, should serve to entertain first and foremost, and many of us may listen to music as a means of escape rather than engagement. Yet it seems no coincidence that these most senseless of riots are breaking out a time when the UK music scene is at its most directionless.

First Impressions: My Morning Jacket - Circuital

If there was one reassuring thing to take from the misstep that was 2008's Evil Urges, it was that My Morning Jacket didn't exactly sound like they were stuck in any creative rut. In fact, the further the band spread its wings on that album, the more successful the results, whether it was with the beguiling four-to-the-floor disco of Touch Me I'm Going To Scream Pt 2, or the Prince homage Highly Suspicious (which has its share of haters, but I'm not among them). Disappointing though it was, Evil Urges suggested that all MMJ required was a slight realignment of their musical compass.

The first listen of Circuital further reaffirms that Evil Urges was nothing more than a blip. What is immediately apparent is that is MMJ's tightest and most cohesive set of songs, but one which is still keen to mine the expansive sound of their last two records, as evident on suave first single Holding Onto Black Metal (which bears more than a passing resemblance to Yes' Owner Of A Lonely Heart).  Indeed, Circuital feels like the album to take the torch from 2005's high-water-mark Z and run with it, right down to the way the delightful Outta My System recalls the Beach Boys melodies the band first flirted with on Off The Record. What's always been true about MMJ is that they have never completely lost touch with their roots, and whilst the guitars have been turned down a notch, Slow Slow Tune shows the band still enjoy nothing more than a good jam.

Circuital is out in the UK on 6th June on Rough Trade.

Music Vid: Panda Bear - Alsation Darn

I don't think I'm the only one to think that after so much anticipation, and the magnificence of 2007's Person Pitch, Tomboy comes up just a bit short. Nevertheless, Panda Bear's new album has its moments of brilliance, and the melancholic Alsation Darn is probably the pick of the bunch. Here's the mind-bending music vid.

Gig Review: Mercury Rev play Deserter's Songs @ The Roundhouse - Sat 21st May

Mercury Rev are an undoubtedly fine band, and 1998's Deserter's Songs is an undoubtedly very fine album. I have to admit that until now I've never held the album in quite the same high esteem as contemparies such as The Soft Bulletin and Under The Western Freeway. I may have to reassess that.

But as Johnathan Donahue was keen to point out, tonight was not merely a victory parade for their own crowning achievement, but a chance for them to also acknowledge the bands and albums that they too held close to their heart, hence the inspired choice of Manchester 80s post-punk legends The Chameleons (right) as the support. Generously awarded a 45-minute slot, the Chameleons grasped the opportunity with both hands and delivered a terrific set, their chorus-laden guitars given just enough bite by their tight rhythms and their expressive frontman Mark Burgess, clearly loving every minute. It was evident that some of the crowd were here specifically to see these guys, whilst seeing the guy infront of me looking up the Wikipedia entry for The Chameleons on his phone suggested that they'd made a number of new fans. If any band is deserving of a critical reappraisal, it's surely these guys.

Mercury Rev walked out onto a stage lit with battery-powered candlelights, adding to the ethereal wonder of the likes of Holes and Endlessly. Despite his waif-like voice, Johnathan Donahue was a commanding stage presence, wide-eyed and beaming throughout, ushering his hands towards the sky. For every sonic detail that was sadly missing - the sax from Hudson Line, the female backing vocals on Opus 40 - they compensated elsewhere, with a singing saw on spooky instrumental Pick Up If You're There, or with an almighty wig-out to Opus 40, making for a monumental centre-piece. The Funny Bird was a transcending experience, with the ever-charismatic Grasshopper wailing the hell out of his guitar, during its epic bridges, before the Madchester-like keyboards of closer Delta Sun Bottleneck Stomp (thankfully removed of its Tom-and-Jerry-on-acid keyboard coda) really got the crowd moving, bringing a fittingly celebratory end to the main set.

After a great rendition of Peter Gabriel's Solsbury Hill, the remainder of the encore predictably comprised a greatest hits selection. Yet with the likes of Senses On Fire from 2008's more electronic-rooted Snowflake Midnight put alongside the acid-rock squall of 1991's Car Wash Hair, it really hit home that against all the odds, this band has survived major-label failures, in-fighting and copious amounts of drugs to become one of the great mainstays of Weird America. This gig was not merely the celebration of a timeless album (which I am now firmly convinced that Deserter's Songs is), but of a glorious and richly rewarding career.

Festival Review: ATP Curated by Animal Collective - Sunday

The final May ATP festival day began with a viewing of Oddsac (in a word, weird) and the obligatory participation in the ATP quiz which included a rather brilliant interpretation of what a Meat Puppet actually looks like. Soon enough though, our attentions turned to music, starting with the Entrance Band (featuring Paz Lechantin formerly of Zwan!), whose raw set of posturing psych-rock was a relative breath of fresh air at this festival. That was followed by Prince Rama (below-right), two white, glitter-clad American girls' interpretation of indian music, replete with exotic interpretive dancer (something of a recurring theme for the day). It was a highly entertaining set, but if there was one problem with Prince Rama this weekend (aside from the name) it was Gang Gang Dance. We'll come to that later.

The rest of the afternoon and early evening was unfortunately a rather scattershot affair. Tickley Feather were slight and uninteresting, whilst Tony Conrad's set - featuring a girl seemingly speaking in tongues, and violins treated in such a way that someone really should set up an RSPCV - was, to my ears, unbearable. Returning to Crazy Horse, Drawlings - a.k.a Abby Portner, sister of Dave "Avey Tare" Portner of Animal Collective - put on what first seemed a promising set of atmospheric drones, beats and vocals, but failed to find any real kind of rhythm. We left before we ever found out whether the girl laying prone on the stage ever made it fully to her feet.

Following those disappointments, I approached Centre Stage for Atlas Sound (pictured top) with some trepidation; I love Bradford Cox (in the musical sense) very much, but three years ago on this very stage he had given a dismally boring performance. Such memories were thankfully eradicated by an achingly gorgeous set, made all the more heart-warming by it being his birthday and a cake being brought on stage by a motley crew, Ariel Pink among them. Defying all expectations, Walkabout was performed sans Panda Bear, but in truth he wasn't missed. A truly touching and captivating display.

Having raved to my friend all weekend long about the brilliance of Gang Gang Dance (pictured left), I was relieved when the band delivered on all my hyperbole, producing what we unanimously agreed to be the performance of the weekend. What was particularly amazing about the performance was how the long-established House Jam became little more than a bit player to fresh cuts such as Glass Jar and Mindkilla, which were rapturously received. Whilst Liz Bougatsos went for a trek through the crowd, standard-bearer in tow, the rest of the band continued with a seamless set, and whilst the dancer in Prince Rama's set felt so integral to the overall enjoyment, here they were merely periphery figures to the genre-defying brilliance of the band. The motto behind GGD's new album Eye Contact seems to be "Positive Energy"; GGD delivered that in spades, and the crowd reciprocated it.

Lacking the energy to see Animal Collective a second time (a wise move, as it turns out that they produced a near-replica performance of the previous night), we closed out our ATP watching the second half of Teenage Fantasy's set from afar over in Reds. The electronic dance duo continued the good vibes from GGD's set, Cheaters in particular proving itself to be the brilliant tune that it is. A highly satisfying end to what had been an eclectic and often ear-shreddingly loud ATP. It's just a shame that next time around, I'll be forced to pack more winter jumpers, but then when is it ever truly warm in Minehead?

Review: Friday

Review: Saturday

Festival Review: ATP Curated by Animal Collective - Saturday

After fuelling up on "The Best Full English Breakfast in Minehead" (fair claim, actually) down near the seafront, and trying our luck at the Bingo (never again will I be able to look at the numbers 8 and 2 together in either arrangement without thinking of Barry White, a duck, and some form of bestial activity) we set off for the Centre Stage for The Brothers Unconnected. The two remaining thirds of Sun City Girls played a no-holds-barred set whose topics encompassed murdering children, racial stereotypes and gallows humour (literally), although their in-between ramblings were arguably more entertaining than the songs themselves. Also offering up first-class entertainment over in Crazy Horse was comedian Matt Baetz. Cue plenty of back-and-forth banter between him and a couple of 10-year old kids on the front row (what responsible parents they must have), jokes about video game nostalgia and on-line dating, and the weekend's most astute observation ("I've heard about Butlins. This is not where the hipsters hang out").

We then set up stall at Centre Stage for pretty much the entire day for what was a back-to-back line-up of brilliant acts. First off the Meat Puppets (pictured right), now veterans of ATP, were in splendid form reeling off their classic third album Up On The Sun. Curt Kirkwood claimed that he couldn't even remember 1985, the year of the album's original release, but he had no problem recalling the twiddly solos of the source material. A rip-roaring reprise of the title track closed a vibrant and often aggressive take on a stoner-country-punk classic. Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti  (pictured below-left) followed. The first few songs were blighted by muddy sound, but a string of songs from last year's excellent Before Today brought the set to life, allowing the band to close out on a victory lap of older classics. Throughout the set Ariel, ever the oddball, skulked about the stage Quasimodo-style.

From there, the plan was to catch the Frogs over on Reds, but such was the brilliance of Beach House's set, the plan never reached fruition. I last saw Beach House - at this very location - three years ago, but the degree to which this band has grown in sound and confidence over that time cannot be overstated. The more dynamic sound of last year's Teen Dream hinted at a band breaking into the big leagues, and in front of an impressive crowd, majestic performances of 10 Mile Stereo and Silver Soul ensured they absolutely nailed it.

Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 are little more than a footnote in 90's U.S indie rock and the small crowd they were left with after the desertion of legions of satisfied Beach House fans suggests that's not likely to change anytime soon. That's a real shame, because their unashamedly erratic songs, replete with a three-pronged guitar attack (always favourable with me) are a storm live, even after years of inactivity, and the band surely deserve a place in the upper echelons besides Pavement, Built to Spill et al.

That left it up to Animal Collective (pictured top and below) to reel in the punters once more. With Josh "Deakin" Dibb back in the fold, the curators played a 90-minute set which leaned heavily on new material, but whenever they did roll into an oldie, the effect was akin to throwing a half-chewed bone to a pack of rabid animals; Brothersport in particular elicited a delirious response. The new material by-and-large sounded hugely impressive, leaning slightly back towards a more conventional approach with Panda Bear back behind a drum-kit, and both Avey and Deakin on guitars; a notable highlight was the massive rave-up halfway through the set. This is now the fourth time I've seen AC, and the balance between new and old material, as well as that between songs and jams has been completely different each time. Despite the exponential rise in their commercial status, it appears that AC's ability to confound and amaze remains reassuringly undiminished.

Review: Friday
Review: Sunday

Festival Review: ATP Curated by Animal Collective - Friday

Minehead was once more beseiged by 20- and 30-somethings with uncouth beards and tight-fitting jeans for what is reportedly the last May ATP for the forseeable future. Curators Animal Collective eschewed the use of the traditional "head-lining" Pavillion stage, wisely opting to allocate all acts to the heightened atmosphere and superior sonics of the Centre and Reds stages, with a smattering of acts also on Crazy Horse.

The first night's lineup was fairly sparse but interesting all the same. Sleepy Doug Shaw A.K.A Highlife opened proceedings on Centre stage with an intriguing if somewhat hit-and-miss solo set of looped acoustic guitars and sparing use of electronc sounds and other instruments. Black Dice followed with what proved to be one of the sets of the weekend. Standing through one hour of the Brooklynite's dirty, shape-shifting barrage of electronic noise as it shakes you from head to toe is something of an endurance test, but there's a masochistic nature to what they do which makes the ear-bleeding pain oh-so compelling.

Unfortunately Grouper's set over on Crazy Horse proved to be an endurance test of a less favourable variety. Despite the concurrent release of her two quite excellent AIA records, Liz Harris chose to perform a tape-collage entitled Rolling Gate. Some 20 minutes in, and it was quite evident that this was going nowhere; we left to catch the end of Lee Scratch Perry's set and returned 15 minutes later, only to find that the progress made could've been measured in the musical equivalent of Angstroms. Bitterly disappointing.

Speaking of Lee Scratch Perry, the dub-reggae legend arrived fashionably late, but looking resplendent in gold-trimmed hat and various other bling. His set was undeniably good fun, and the holler of "Lee Scratch Perry! Say Lee Scratch Perry!" remained embedded in the memory for the rest of the weekend.

Review: Saturday

Review: Sunday